My father hesitated, his eyes darting to the small blue button beneath the edge of the secretary’s desk outside.

“Ava,” Dean Vance said without looking back at me. “Go through the adjoining records room. Now.”

I didn’t hesitate.

I turned to the small wooden door on the left side of the room.

I grabbed the brass handle, turned it, and slipped into the narrow, dimly lit records room.

Behind me, I heard my father shout my name, followed by the sound of a chair scraping sharply against the floor.

I slammed the heavy door shut behind me and slid the deadbolt into place.

The records room smelled of dust and old paper.

I walked quickly between the tall metal shelves, searching for the exit that led to the back hallway.

I found the push bar door, pressed it open, and hurried down the concrete stairs.

My breath came in short, ragged gasps as I reached the ground floor.

I burst through the emergency exit doors into the cold, damp afternoon air.

The rain was falling in a steady, freezing mist.